Ruffly Speaking

pictures. “It came as a surprise when I first noticed it. In most ways, Matthew is so scientific that it’s almost impossible to tell what he’s feeling, but I really do think that his photographs reveal a rather unexpected aesthetic sense.” Stephanie’s face was proud and puzzled.
    “These show a lot of feeling,” I said. “And, technically, they’re amazing.”
    “With Matthew, that more or less goes without saying. If it’s technical, he masters it. The question for Matthew is never about the machine itself. It’s whether there’s a spirit in there, too, a ghost, or whether everything is wheels and gears and microchips.” She gazed steadily at Ruffly as she spoke. I wanted to ask whether that was how Matthew saw Ruffly—as wheels and gears and microchips—but the unspoken question felt rude. In any case, Stephanie went on to answer it. “Matthew still hasn’t entirely reconciled himself to Ruffly. Before—before Ruffly—Matthew was a tremendous help with all the assistive devices, ghastly bells for the phone and lights here and there for this and that, and then I’d forget to look at the lights, and Matthew would be disgusted with me. And now, ever since Ruffly, I don’t need all that paraphernalia. Poor Matthew! I’m afraid he sees Ruffly as a sort of John Henry who’s beaten his machines.”
    If Rita had been there, she’d have said—or at least thought—a lot of far-fetched things about sibling rivalry and the Oedipus complex and the symbolism of men and machines. I felt happy to be a dog writer instead of a Psychologist. Stephanie Benson must have wondered what I was smiling about. “Dogs are stiff competition,” I said.
    “That’s what’s so funny about Matthew’s attraction to Leah.” Stephanie shook her head. “Although, of course, he doesn’t see it that way, and if you point it out to him, he is not amused. But she is such a darling! And with that big, beautiful dog? They’re adorable. How could he resist?”
    It was obviously my turn to say something flattering about Matthew. What1 “They seem to be having a good time,” I said. “And it really is okay for her to bring Kimi here? I was a little worried that Kimi would, uh, bother Ruffly.”
    “Not at all. They play little games together. Kimi is just as cute as she can be,” Stephanie added.
    Darling.Adorable. More than any other domestic breed, the Alaskan malamute retains the anatomical characteristics associated with the wolf’s powerful bite, including the broad muzzle and the sagittal crest along the skull. A malamute that bites your arm breaks your arm. I always expect the worst of my dogs; I never forget what the darlings could do if they felt like it.
    In lieu of a full explanation, however, I just said thanks. I also thanked Stephanie for talking with me. As she showed me to the door, I mentioned that I’d known Morris Lamb, the previous occupant of the house. To my surprise, Stephanie had met Morris. Off Brattle isn’t exactly a rental district; as I should probably have realized, a personal connection explained why she was in Morris’s house. Doug Winer’s cousin, Sheila something, who lived in Brookline, had been Stephanie’s roommate at Smith, and they’d stayed friends. In April, when Stephanie arrived in Cambridge, Sheila and Doug had taken her to have tea with Morris, who was one of her new parishioners. In referring to Morris, Stephanie used words like warm, interesting, and generous, and she said that Morris was one parishioner she could count on not to object to women clergy or to the presence of a dog in the sanctuary. She didn’t say that Morris never actually showed up in church; she didn’t have to. Morris showed his dogs all the time, all over the place. The only services he at-tended on Sunday mornings were conducted by the American Kennel Club.
    “I felt terrible about his accident,” Stephanie said. “Terrible,” I echoed, but accident hit me as a peculiar word for a fatal AIDS-related illness. I wondered whether Stephanie actually believed that trumped-up death-by-salad story, or whether Doug or his cousin had somehow persuaded her to promulgate it. If so, I couldn’t understand why. Doug obviously hadn’t come out to his elderly father, but if his cousin had known Morris, Doug had obviously come out to her. Morris was so outgoing that it was impossible to imagine that he’d ever gone in anywhere to begin with.
    “It must be odd for you,” Stephanie said. “To see